


Passion Allows Us to Hide More

by fangirlfortheages



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman, bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlfortheages/pseuds/fangirlfortheages
Summary: The CMBYN/Bare crossover that no one asked for!
Relationships: Jason McConnell/Peter Simmonds
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CMBYN is a stunning book that has meant so much to me these past few years of my life, and Bare has meant so much to me as a theatre dork who cried at the LA version. I want to put them in Italy, combine some characters, and create something new. I hope you all enjoy!  
> 

The first time I saw him he was head stepping out of the taxi. He wasn't the only one. He was joined by a mother, father, and sister, a nuclear family plucked from suburban New England. Ivy was leaning on the window sill next to me, similarly curious. They could be delightful or absolutely bores. With academics, it’s a real lottery.

I knew the father was a classics professor at Columbia. He’d befriended my father at a conference in Milan, and after a few drinks, my father’s sunny Mediterranean upbringing convinced him to offer our home to this practical stranger. We usually invited a graduate student to our villa in Italy for the summer; they helped my father with his research and correspondence and and in return got valuable experience for their PhDs. I vacated my room for six weeks, and they enjoyed our lazy lifestyle, the culture in town, and learned some Italian. A few months later, we always got a particularly grateful Christmas card in which the student reminisced about their carefree days in Crema. It was a routine I was familiar with, but typically these invaders came one at a time, not in families of four. My father had been so taken with this New York professor that he'd made an exception.

My mother and I had a few words to say about it.

“Sammy, there’s four of them!”

“Where are they gonna sleep?”

“They’ll make themselves small. And if the kids are anything like the father, they’ll be cordial. And I have a plan.”

My father’s plan not only evicted me from my room, but forced me to spend the six weeks stuck in the attic with the son.

I had pouted and raised a scene, threatened to not play piano for them at dinner time, but my father saw right through me and stayed resolute.

“I think you’ll like them.”

“Professor Perlman! Thank you so much for inviting us. We can’t thank you enough.”

Hair color was sex-linked in this family. The girls' were a mahogany brown while the father had passed down sunny blonde hair to their son. 

“Absolutely! It is so nice to meet you. Peter, why don’t you take Nadia and Jason to their rooms before lunch?”

I reached for their bags and caught my first glimpse of his face. He must have thought me a bumbling idiot since I looked at his face much too quickly that first time, so quickly that it must have been intentional. Nadia was more neutral ground.

“Are me and the jackass gonna be sleeping in the same room?”

I wish I had siblings to tease like that.

“No, you’re sleeping in my grandfather’s old room, and Jason and I are sleeping in the attic.”

“The attic? Is it all dusty in there?” he asked. He sounded tired.

“It was, but Mafalda spent the last week cleaning it so it’s good as new.”

Ivy came down the stairs as I was leading the twins up.

“Hello, McConnells. _Au revoir_ , Peter.” She kissed them on both cheeks. I was glad she made her greeting short. Usually she was a bundle of energy, charming and not afraid to show it. The twins were a bit taken aback.

“When in Italy.” Nadia remarked to her brother.

I dropped off Nadia’s bags. Then, I climbed the stairs into the attic. Besides the low ceiling, the floor space was pretty comfortable. We had taken the spare bed from my room up here and bought a small bed frame and mattress from our neighbors and moved it up here too. The accommodations we’d made for this family were above and beyond. I hadn’t been up there since Mafalda had cleaned and was grateful to see that besides the aging wood floors, it looked good. He with his glitzy New York digs would have surely been uncomfortable otherwise.

I opened unoriginally.

“Here’s your new home.”

“Thanks. It’s nice up here.” Glad he was being polite.

“You can have the twin. I’ll take the cot.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. You’re our guest.”

He sat on the bed, then lied down and, before I knew it, appeared to be sleeping. I knew I had to leave before I risked waking him.

I decided to visit Nadia. She was unpacking her heavy duty suitcase and removing boxes of makeup. I leaned against the door frame.

“What do you need all that makeup for?” I was only trying to start conversation -and it really was a lot of makeup- but she seemed offended.

“Anything.” She didn’t look up at me.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“Our female guests have complained about wearing makeup here. They say they just sweat it off and break out.”

She finally looked up. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She was keeping me at arms length, but I knew I had to keep trying because if I was going to spend a summer with her, we had to at least be on speaking terms.

“You know after lunch I could take you guys out for a tour of the town. We ride bikes everywhere. It could be nice.”

“Ask Jason. He’s into that kind of stuff.”

And with that I’d lost her.

I ventured downstairs defeated. I had made a bad first impression on both twins, and I’d been given two chances.

My mother and Mafalda were chopping in the kitchen.

“ _Tesoro,_ how are you feeling?” She chopped onions with one arm and wrapped the other around my head, playing with my hair.

“Okay.”

I was surely being fatalistic. Obviously two thirty second conversations did not determine the summer. Of course, she could tell.

“They’re tired, but they seem to be an interesting bunch. Nadia plays the cello. She’s very musical. And Jason jogs and plays tennis. Maybe you could start running again with him.”

Maybe.

I helped my mother prepare lunch in time for Jason to wake up from his nap and the McConnells to head downstairs. They loved Mafalda’s cooking. It put them in a cheery mood, especially Mr. and Mrs. McConnell who were definitely still delirious from their trip. My father brought up the bike tour again to which Charles and Ellen McConnell were enthusiastic about.

Nadia scoffed “No, thanks. I have a lot more unpacking to do.”

Their mother glared at her.

“I’ll go with Peter.” volunteered Jason.

He gave me a knowing glance. His eyes were blue.

“So what do you do around here?”

I took him to the center of town and we plopped down at a table near the fountain. I’d already shown him all the important landmarks, the general store, the best gelato place, and the hotspots for people our age. I’d given him the inside scoop into the social scene for which I hoped he was grateful. He seemed like the type to go out on his own, make friends with all my friends, and then come back late into the night. Now we sat with cups of ice water from the local cafe; I forgot to bring any money so it was all we could afford.

“I read. Go out at night. Swim at the river a little farther down that way.”

“Your mom mentioned you do music.”

“Yeah, I transcribe a lot when I’m here. Play piano sometimes.”

“You should talk to Nadia about that. She brought her cello. She’s a regular prodigy.”

That struck me as such an Americanism- _a regular prodigy._ The phrase put Nadia on a pedestal. It implied that he was below her, like a simpleton at the turn of the century saying of a college graduate - _he's a regular Einstein_.

“I tried talking to her when you were asleep but she wasn’t so receptive.”

He snorted. “Figures. She’s just angry at everyone right now. Don’t take it personally.”

“Good to know.”

He smiled.“Your mom also said that you jog.”

“I used to. I stopped about a year ago.”

“I still do. Every morning.”

He paused.

“What if we went together? In the mornings. Otherwise I’d probably wake you up.”

Now, I smiled. How had he read my mind?

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Awesome.”

As quickly as that statement of friendship had come, the ease that had come with it vanished. Silence resumed.

“Should we head back?” I finally said. He nodded and finished up the last of his water.

We gathered up our bikes, and as I was adjusting my bag, I fell into him.

“Woah, there.” He placed a hand on my shoulder to stop my fall.

“Sorry.” I mumbled.

"No worries."

He pedaled away, already sure of the way back to the villa. I watched him ahead of me. He was tall, my old bike barely contained his legs which were pumping away, gaining distance on me by the second. Eventually, he stopped and glided down the road. He removed his hands from the handlebar and let them rest at his sides. He looked majestic and daring, as if by risking injury he could make himself more at home, conquering the landscape by baiting it. When the road became bumpy again, his front wheel jerked, and he yanked to grab hold of it. I laughed quietly to myself.

How much of an issue was this daredevil going to be? I wanted to find out where his boundary lied, where he would become afraid. Is he really the type to bring girls home with him at night? Most definitely. He'd charm them with his smile and attitude, then introduce me and unaware to the fact that I’d known them since I was five. I liked picturing him bringing girls home. I would be sleeping, until the door burst wide open as they kissed each other savagely, bumping into things as they made their way to the bed. He’d breathe heavily and roll himself into them and they’d say his name over and over again.

Jason. Jason. Jason.

I liked the sound of that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found that this style is really just minimalist vignettes. I think it comes because I love the film so much and I think film is my primary creative language.  
> Also, some updates. I'm out of school for two weeks so updates should keep coming since I'm gonna be absolutely bored out of my mind.  
> I'm no longer a child as of today. So that's a weird thing :)  
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: turns out it's been a bit longer than two weeks :( Stay safe everybody!

On the drive from the airport to Crema as a child, I would count the landmarks leading up to the villa. Our neighbor’s orchard, the belfry, the train cars where the gypsies used to live. They served as a countdown clock. Anticipation built in my little heart until we pulled up the gravel driveway, and I would burst out of the car and give Mafalda the biggest hug.

I was a lonely child at our home in New York. No siblings and eccentric parents meant that I spent much of my time reading or playing my music, and I had difficulty making friends. That was why I loved the villa so much. All the neighbors would come in and out, chatting with my parents, often staying for dinner. I liked listening to the conversations with my father and his visiting academic friends. I loved the parties my mother would throw for the neighbors for no particular reason. I loved the freedom I felt to ride my bike around the town, and I loved how I could ride up to someone's house and ask them to hang out with me because, unlike New York, no one had anything else to do and would usually agree. That wasn't possible in post-"stranger danger" Manhattan.

It wasn’t until years later that I fully appreciated the gift my parents had given me, A languorous paradise where good food, good-looking landscapes, and good people were a given. A place all our own where people lived much as they did before Mussolini, uncorrupted by the outside world.

Unless you count the corruption from Mussolini himself.

However, during that summer when I was seventeen, I was bored. I lounged and played piano, read all manner of books, transcribed. I played sports with my friends, football, volleyball. There was a club in town, Le Danzing. Maybe once a week we’d go out there. Meet up with Lucas, smoke a little of his stash, try to have a good time. Sometimes more successfully than others. The novelty of community I'd been so enthralled by as a kid had worn off, and I ignored simple pleasures under the angsty assumption that there was still more to life than living with the people you love in a place that you love. Jason pointed that out on our very first run together.

“This place is incredible. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.”

“That’s what they all say.” I replied, thinking myself clever.

Jason smirked at me.

“Well, if you won’t appreciate it, I will. I’d kill to have a place like this every summer.”

I told him of my summers here as a child and he listened eagerly, cooing wistfully and remarking how jealous he was every five seconds. I ate up his praise and ignored my own instincts to change the topic, the fail safe to prevent the listener from growing bored and abandoning me. He didn’t seem to be growing bored. He may have been feigning interest for my benefit, but when he told me how much he loved my stories, I was compelled to keep going. My instincts be damned, I found myself thinking, I need his attention like oxygen.

Jason and I took to sitting in the garden in the afternoons. He sat on the edge of the pool, usually reading; I sat in a chair, sometimes reading, other times with my guitar, plucking out the same five melodies from my favorite pop songs. Over time, Jason made a game of guessing which order I would play the songs in.

It was during these afternoons that Ivy would drop by. No one needed a reason to show up at our house, but she always seemed to have one. The first day, it was some excuse that pulled me into the kitchen.

She asked giddy, “What's Jason into?” 

I wasn’t used to seeing her like this. She was my playmate who existed only during summer and winter breaks to ride bikes and watch movies with me on rainy nights in my living room. As the years wore on, unavoidably I noticed her change, more so than I did. One day when we were fourteen, I visited her house, and there she was wearing a My Chemical Romance T-shirt with a blue streak in her hair. That summer, she wasn’t too interested in riding bikes.

Because I only saw her for weeks at a time, she served as a signpost for the development in my peers that I was blind to at home. I noticed when she suddenly started wearing bras or complaining about the SAT’s. And that day, I noticed how forward she had become.

I’d never seen this side of her before, one of a woman out on the town, who knowing what she wants and having no reservations about pursuing it, owned herself and her desires in a way I didn't have the courage to.

I’d never been her wingman before, but it thrilled me. Now, I had an inside scoop on his romantic life. I could pull strings, bet on outcomes, play a broker.

Instead, I was cowardly.

“Um, he likes sports. He plays basketball during the year. He takes French at school…”

“Ok, perfect. That’s all I need. You’re the best.”

And with that, she marched out to challenge him. I’d left my book outside but chose to not go back. I hid safely behind the window curtains and watched as Ivy dipped one foot into the pool and posed at his feet. The way she positioned herself, one leg folded underneath her, leaning back on her hands, reminded me of the statues my father studies. Figures elegant like a dancer at the crest of their leap, the placement of limbs and the bending of joints calibrated to inspire desire. How could a sculptor mold marble so expertly? Create those elegant curves which invited another to place themselves between the gaps of their bodies?

I was mystified. She knew how to flirt so well.

He responded to her signals and sat up. They engaged in what I assume was a fruitful conversation and then she left, upon which time I emerged from my hideout and took my seat.

“She’s something isn’t she?” he remarked.

“Ivy? Oh yeah, definitely.” I pretended to be immersed in my book.

He chuckled quietly. After a few seconds, when I’d assumed he returned to his book, I looked up at him, only to discover that he was staring right at me. I looked back dumbly. He laughed again, this time actually returning to his book and shaking his head. It didn’t register then what that smile had meant.

He wanted me to let me in on something, to let me know that, through Ivy, he and I were in cahoots. 

I should have said: bring me into your confidence. Let’s gossip about Ivy until we’re blue in the face and chumming around like drunkards at the bar. We can talk about girls or boys or anything else you want. Just keep smiling at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm still experimenting with writing in general so I'd love feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

Ivy came everyday after that. Soon, I would go out to the garden only to find Jason not there. He’s gone to town with Ivy, my mother informed me. You should join them.

I lied and told her I had some more practicing to do.

I marched to the piano and played Bach. Bach always distracted me when my nerves were shot. Not that they _were_ shot.

I’d known this piece for a long time, and I played it while my mind wandered somewhere else. When my thoughts suddenly and without warning snapped back to reality, my fingers froze and stopped the piece in its tracks. I groaned and leaned my elbows on the keys.

“You know, that was pretty good. ‘Till you ruined it.”

Nadia was leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed in performative nonchalance.

“Your judgement is not appreciated.”

If she was gonna be mean, I might as well play her game. She came over and sat on the arm chair facing the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

“Play for me again.”

“What do you think this is? A piano bar?”

“Jesus, I was just asking.”

“Lucky my mother isn’t around to hear you curse like that.”

“Yeah, my mother too.”

She finally smiled at me. I guess she really was offering an olive branch, not just visiting to poke fun for her own amusement.

“You guys religious?” I asked.

“Roman Catholic, born and raised. Went to church until I reached the age of reason.”

I chuckled. “I’m surprised they let you do that.”

“Yeah, well they kinda gave up on me once they saw I was seduced by Satan.” She motioned to her hair. “I still go to boarding school in the winter though.”

“Really? Me too.”

“Yeah? Where? Maybe we play you guys in sports or whatever.”

“Well, I’m starting somewhere new in the fall. St. Cecilia’s in Massachusetts.”

She suddenly sat up. “No fucking way, that’s where we go!”

“Wow.” I was pleasantly surprised. Maybe the twins were my gateway to making friends at my new school. I wonder if my father knew that when he asked them to stay the summer.

“Yeah, wow. I guess we’ll see you in the fall too. I can introduce you as my exotic Italian friend.”

The thought that I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to him after these six weeks was both relieving and terrifying. Would he still drag me through the mud, like a runaway horse pulling it’s rider, every time I saw him, or didn’t see him, for the rest of the school year? How could I possibly withstand this anxiety for that long?

I shrugged. “That’d be nice. Considering you’ll be nice to me.”

“Hey! That’s offensive.”

“C’mon, you and your brother are like fire and ice! I never know where I stand with you two.”

She knew that she had been cold with me, but her brother was nothing but warm, if a bit too apathetic for my needy soul. This was too much of an admission, but I realized it just a second too late. 

“Really? I thought you guys got along.”

“We do.” I answered lamely.

She paused and studied me. She had a devilish smirk on her face.

“I think he likes you more than you think he does.”

Now what was this? I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion to hide any, more compromising emotion that might have betrayed me.

“What do you mean?”

“He seems to like you is all.”

She rose and started walking out the door, asking the empty house if there was any apricot juice left from breakfast, leaving me high dry on the piano bench.

She acted like she knew something or intuited something. Maybe he had told her something or maybe she had seen right through me and saw how desperate for him I actually was. Sometimes it felt like it invaded everything I did, every word I said to anyone, every choice I made. Would he be at pool if I went in an hour? If I play piano now could I run into him and bring up that very important issue that’s been bugging me concerning our shared room that I brainstormed last night while listening to his breathing?

I sighed. I was too exhausted from all this. I thumbed at the keys, playing out a melody line I knew by heart, hoping it would drown out the chaos and make me forget all the spinning I was doing. It did just that, but I became lost in it. I added the left hand and began to emphatically play a soaring choral tune which had elements of a funeral march thrown in and before I knew it I was singing and and swaying, hopelessly surrendering until I felt wells in my eyes. I held out the last chord and slowly lifted my foot off the petal, letting the final chord reverberate around the house. I hoped Nadia, my parents, the McConnells were around to hear it because even though I would never want them to know the true nature of my turmoil, maybe if they could hear the music, they would grasp a bit of me and feel something even if the source was beyond their jurisdiction.

And if he were to hear, well, then I might just have to tell him exactly who the piece was dedicated to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole Nadia's joke from George Carlin if some of you recognize it because I'm kinda unoriginal.  
> I learned how to play piano basically from the Bare score and I imagine Peter playing No Voice for obvious reasons and because that's always my go to piece. The piano part is surprisingly easy and it sounds so gorgeous.  
> Anyway, I feel as though I'm finally getting a handle on this style and world I want to create so I'm going back and editing the other chapters and probably will continue to do so because I always like my writing less after I leave it for a few days.  
> Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

The McConnells defied all expectations and made lots of new friends. Mr. McConnell gambled in the evenings in town, and Ms. McConnell played the New England socialite, making a name for herself in the sport of gossip. However, it still came as a surprise to us when they suggested we join their family in attending a pool party hosted by a neighboring villa.

We knew the family because they were also academics who owned a second home in Crema, but they’d never hosted a party as lavish or selective as this before. We soon learned that the father had been divorced and was newly married to a Long Island girl. When my mother, a native Italian, found out, she chuckled. “I should’ve known. Only an American.”

“Only a New Yorker.” My father corrected.

The party was packed, with at least thirty people inside the house and even more in the yard. None of my friends from town happened to be there. It was mostly rich folks from around the countryside, so I swam in their pool by myself, enjoying the water as best I could. Nadia came to join me for a little while. We relaxed on floats and she told me more about St. Cecelia’s, but eventually she left, and a few minutes later, I got out and dried myself off too. They had made a bonfire and were handing out s’mores when he approached.

“This is very _Americano._ ” he said, referring to the s’mores.

I pretended to pay him no mind. “Yeah, definitely but it’s delicious.”

I’d only eaten half of mine. The rest of the sandwich was dripping everywhere, and hot marshmallow was going to run onto my fingers if I didn’t gobble it up soon. I used this as my excuse to finish it; he laughed. He said I was a regular caveman.

“You wanna come with me a second?” he asked.

I nodded and followed him, wiping my mouth with my arm. We walked past the pool, beyond where the house lights lit everything up, to a large grassy area. The host’s black dog followed us with his toy, and Jason kneeled down to wrestle it away from him. The dog was strong though, and I giggled as he got on the ground and fully committed himself to winning tug-o-war.

“You’re no help!” he grunted.

“You got yourself into this mess.” I laughed. I watched him play with that dog for what seemed like ages. I suddenly felt extraneous, just staring at him.

Miraculously, Jason won. He didn’t gloat but chucked the toy as far as he could toward the other end of the yard. Then, he dusted himself off and turned to me.

“Now where were we?”

“I don’t know.”

He smiled, expecting that answer. “Neither do I.”

We kept walking until we hit the pile of stones fencing off the yard. Jason turned around and walked in the opposite direction. I followed.

“So, what do we talk about then?” he asked.

“God, I don’t know.” I was beginning to feel awkward. We were noticeably apart from the rest of the party, and it didn’t feel natural at all.

“Ok.” He paused, then started ironically, “What do you think is the meaning of life?”

I laughed and looked at him bewildered. It is impossible to ask that question casually. It is as forced as it is broad, and even ironically it was stilted.

“I don’t know.” I said for what felt like the dozenth time. I laughed again, partially because I wanted to cut the awkward tension which I was most likely responsible for. He was always so calm and collected, so clearly my uneasy energy had caused him to fish for some generic question meant to open me up. His fidgeting was otherwise inexplicable.

“C’mon. An answer, please!”

We argued back and forth like this for a few minutes. It felt repetitive, but we were both smiling so I didn’t mind. It was arguing for argument’s sake, and I loved it.

I saw some kids looking at us from one side of the pool. I couldn't blame them because it was odd, wasn’t it? Two people with no otherwise important business talking so far away from everybody else?

“Let’s sit here.” he said. We had walked from one end of the yard to the pool and back again four or five times. He led us over to the glass dining table next to the pool and sat in one of two chairs facing each other. Mostly everybody had moved inside, so we were alone on the patio, save for those kids with their feet dangling in the pool who I thought were ogling at us.I sat in the other chair and, to my surprise, he lifted his feet onto my chair right next to my hip. I put my feet up on his in symmetry. We fit so nicely; the chairs were so close together. We could have been in the same sleeping bag.

It appeared that we were not going to address this new arrangement, which was fine by me. I felt so relaxed all of a sudden, and seized on that momentum to take control of the conversation.

“I don’t need you badgering me on such random questions.”

“Why not?” He was grinning so widely, his eyes sparkled. I figured I’d keep playing along.

“Because-” Except now, I was blanking on a clever retort.

“Because?”

“Because- I don’t know.” Damn, it backfired.

“These questions are perhaps the most important questions in human history.” he said, parodying a professor, possibly my dad.

“I don’t know about that.” I replied, by way of stalling.

“You’re just wrong.”

“I’m wrong?” I said incredulously, teasing him once again. I was enjoying this very much.

Suddenly, it dawned on me: an idea, an epiphany. I had a chance to be sly, to be clever, to be mysterious, and more importantly, to be daring. To step out of darkness and into the light. And to challenge that damn smirk of his.

“Well, at least we know _that’s_ the question you wanted to ask me.” I sighed.

He paused, still smiling. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” What did I mean? “I mean sitting here, you know, walking away from everybody else.”

“So?” Now he was being incredulous, his grin having lost some of its candor.

“So is that what you want to ask me?” I kept my tone light, but my eyes firmly anchored on his face.

He faltered. “Yes?”

What was that lilt in his voice? And why did it inspire so much hope?

“Are you sure?”

His answer was strained, and it sounded far too much like a question. I wanted to give him a chance to double back. Give me a straight answer because these grey-areas I can’t stand.

But he dug deeper.

“Yes?” His eyes were wide, and his smile unflinchingly present. Smile away the awkwardness and maybe I’d forget.

But I refused to let him off the hook. “Are you really sure?”

I was starting to panic now. I knew that this was putting the newfound comfort we had found in our pacing, this camaraderie and enjoyment we had discovered in each other tonight, at risk. I could lose him for good.

But I had to know.

With more conviction but less believability, he said, "Yes."

At that moment, the dog came over with his gnarled rope and put his head on my thigh. He allowed me to take his toy and fling it across the yard.

“Good. At least, we know now.” I reclined in my chair because, in theory, I had triumphed in the battle of wits that was this conversation.

However, in practice, I had absolutely lost.

At least, Jason had the wherewithal not to sulk in the cloud of implication which threatened to terminate our friendship altogether. Or maybe he never even picked up on my internal battle, and I'd imagine all the 3D chess moves we were making. Nevertheless, he pivoted right back into teasing, and I went back to enjoying myself for the rest of the party, momentary disaster averted.

My mother called us inside when it began to get really dark, and I immediately resented her for it. I went to change out of my swimsuit, and when I came back, he’d been roped into a conversation with his parents, who wanted to show him off to their new friends.

There was a piano in their living room and I sat on the bench staring at the keys. There was music already playing and I didn’t want to be obnoxious. We left a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scenario comes from a real life experience I had, albeit with some deviations. This is one of the moments in my life I thought of when I first read about Elio and Oliver at the monument, dancing around each other, talking of everything but, and using such vague language to try to communicate what means most to them.  
> Also, calling out New Yorkers because I'm one of them lol.  
> Feedback would be so appreciated especially if you've come this far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy. Have fun!

I thought about our conversation all night. My back was turned to him just in case my gaze was able to beam dangerous thoughts directly into his brain and expose me for the traitor I was. Spending time with him, joking about the girl who stood between us, all the while dissenting that it should be me in his arms instead of her. I was fabricating fantasies about him, about our tenuous and young friendship, right under his nose. I was a traitor, even if my musings were just in my dreams, buried with the sunlight, and reasoned away with the highly effective balm know as self-deprecation.

But, my sub-conscious kept whispering, wasn’t there _something_ in the zeitgeist between us? Something different? I compiled what flimsy evidence there was like a sleazy lawyer trying to twist a case in favor of his guilty client. Nadia’s words, his offers of friendship, the glint in his eye. But really, all the evidence was subject to the filter of my own senses. I felt like I was taking a test on a subject I assumed I understood until I reached a question with two possible answers. One part of me was pushy, confident in my intuition, the other was desperate to quiet that obnoxious part because what are the odds? I’ve _never_ been that lucky.

But still, when you think about something so much, to the point where it consumes you, it has to at least exist, right? It has to be present in the world, if not in the minds of others. Otherwise, this idea, which has accidentally become an extension of you and your identity, is meaningless; you are meaningless.

It was far too much for 1a.m on a Tuesday night.

“I need to pick out something for Nadia’s birthday.”

We were sitting in the garden again. It was after lunch, and Ivy hadn’t come yet. She hadn’t come in a few days I noticed, and I was starting to wonder if she would come back at all. I had come out before him and was already hard at work transcribing a Chopin concerto for my guitar.

“I could help you, if you want.” I tried to sound nonchalant, not like my vocal cords had stiffened involuntarily.

“That’d be great.”

“When do you wanna go?”

He thought for a second.

“Now’s good.”

And just like that we headed into town on our bikes.

First, I took him to the bookstore. It was small, tucked in a corner of the piazza. The woman at the counter was leaning back in a chair, reading. When we entered, she greeted us with a smile before returning to her book where she could escape the mid-afternoon heat.

The English-language section consisted of one column of shelves nestled in the back of the store. Jason pulled over a step stool so he could look at the top shelf while I started from the bottom.

“I usually don’t get her a present.”

An interesting admission. In itself, the statement was not flattering, but he volunteered that information like it was an afterthought. I tried to mimic his trite tone.

“Oh, why not?”

“I’m not sure. I’m usually not organized enough. Also, we're rarely so patient with each other.”

“You guys seem chill though. Sometimes I wish I had a sister like you do.”

He chuckled, “You say that now, when we’re drunk on Italy and all touchy-feely, but this is the exception.”

I guess they’re the kind of siblings who fight a lot and get on each other’s nerves. It was disappointing because it burst my fantasy of their comfortable relationship, but I was still happy to hear that Italy has made it better.

“When’s your birthday?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What? That’s so soon.”

“Yeah.”

“I have to get you something, now.”

That “ _now”_ was extremely important. And I'd almost forgotten it. Without the " _now_ ", “ _I have to get you something_ ” implied that because I valued our relationship intrinsically, I wanted to get him something. It became a confession. However, with an added “ _now_ ”, it meant “ _because you have just mentioned to me that your birthday is coming up, it would be rude to_ not _get you something._ ”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that.”

“No, it’s ok. I will.”

Before he could respond, I found a book of Bach music with annotations in English. I bought it, explaining to him that Bach wrote a bunch of cello solos that she might like. He approved.

He didn’t find anything at the bookstore, so next we tried the touristy memorabilia store. He found a decorative map of the region he thought she would like, but he only mentioned it after we spent thirty minutes in the store browsing. I think he was just becoming antsy and wanted to get out of there.

With our presents in little plastic bags, I mounted my bike.

Suddenly Jason interrupted. “God, I really don’t want to go home right now.” He was looking off into the distance, his eyes squinted in the sun.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you know anywhere else we could go?”

I thought for a second.

“We could head over to Lucas’. He was supposed to get a new shipment in yesterday.”

He smiled. “Sounds good.”

On our bikes a few minutes later, he admitted that he really just wanted to head over to Lucas’ anyway.

“That’s manipulation.” I shouted from behind him.

He laughed. “I guess, technically. But would you rather I say ‘I really want to get high right now?’” I loved how he shouted it in the middle of the road where anyone could hear.

“Honesty is the best policy.”

“Fuck you.”

I laughed and pedaled faster to catch up. I passed him on the road, and before I knew it, we were racing down the path.

When we arrived, we were both sweaty and breathless.

“I think the endorphins did the trick.” I panted.

“Maybe, but we're already here.”

I picked up a small stone and threw it up at Lucas’ window, as he preferred as a method of communication for his side-hustle.

He looked out the window, perturbed, and when he came downstairs, he was half-dressed in a white button down and underwear. He was adamant that he couldn’t supply us right now since he had an important dinner with his parent’s admissions counselor friend who was due to arrive any second. However, Jason and I were still giddy from the ride and wouldn’t take no for answer.

“Fine. Just go around the back and leave that way.”

From his balcony, he tossed down a baggie with weed, rolling papers and a cheap lighter.

“Thank you! We’ll bring it back, I promise!” Jason called loudly after him. Laughing, I shushed him and ushered us into the forested area behind his house.

We lit up siting between two trees. We passed the joint back and forth a few times before I suddenly realized exactly where we were.

“Holy shit!”

“What?”

“Follow me. It’s gotta be close to here…”

It was tough rolling our bikes through all the foliage, but my sense of direction was apparently strong and the trees quickly parted.

“This is my spot.”

A babbling stream which came down from the mountains fed into a clear pool surrounded by trees on three sides and the edge of a field on the other. I used to lie in the grass here for hoursand hours reading and day-dreaming about the great artists who were said to have painted here.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jason said, “if the impressionists painted here. It’s beautiful. Just like everything else in this magnificent country.”

I chuckled. “Do you want something to drink?” I motioned to the stream.

“Oh yes, please.”

I held the joint while he cupped his hands and slurped like he’d spent the day in the desert. He did the same for me.

We laid on the grass and continued to pass the joint in silence for a long time.

“God, this place is beautiful.” he sighed.

“You said that already.”

“Yeah, but I still mean it.”

I giggled. “And you’re still right.”

I loved that I had brought him here. He felt like he belonged. His whole body relaxed, open to saying whatever was on his mind. It may have been the drugs, but I didn’t much care. He looked radiant in the sun like this. The breeze ever so slightly ruffling his hair, his eyes illuminated so every lash and splash of color in his iris was visible. I could see the bump of his nose which was dotted with freckles. Since his skin had darkened these past few weeks, they had faded.

“What?”

I’d been caught staring. Under normal circumstances, I would have moved on, saying something about the weather to distract him, but the drugs were taking over.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I said nothing!”

“Nothing isn’t nothing, Peter!” he turned towards me, grinning broadly. “Because you wouldn’t be laughing if it was nothing. Tell me!”

He was dangerously close now.

“I was just thinking about how… your face is real ugly.”

He took it well.

“Oh, you son of a bitch! You wanna fight, huh? I can take you.”

He stood up and crouched with his fists up, bouncing back and forth like Rocky.

I doubled over laughing.

“No, Peter! You throw fighting words? You gotta stand it. Get up and take me like a man.”

Short-winded and weak from laughing, I stood and put up my fists with all the conviction my noodled body could muster.

He came in with punches that did no more than touch me. He got my sides and my chest, quickly ratcheting up the frequency until it devolved into tickling.

“Stop! Please!” I shreiked.

“Huh, why should I?”

I didn’t have the breath to respond. I slipped on the grass, and he came down with me, relentless in his attack. We twisted and writhed on the ground, limbs everywhere, the sun peeking in and out from behind his head. He ended up on top of me, and as I shut my eyes to revel in our camaraderie, our uninhibited foolishness, and to truly appreciate this glorious afternoon in all its buoyant splendor, his mouth attached to mine.

He did not move.

But he did not move away.

My heart leapt in my throat, and I grabbed at him with a ferocity I didn’t expect. I was eager and more willing than I'd ever been in my life to give myself over, I was sure of that now, so I pushed into his back with my palms, flattening him against my chest like a wrinkly piece of paper, trying to hold him. I couldn't contain it. It was only my upper body though; I feared that if I used my lower body, he’d recoil. But he really didn’t seem to be going anywhere. In fact, I could have sworn he was starting to kiss me back. Just barely though. He didn’t seem to want to move.

Suddenly, I felt so liberated because he, for once, was unsure of how to proceed. I took charge, and I turned him over so his back was on the grass and I could have access to his front. I kissed him deeply and held his face with both hands, while his were only barely touching my back. I ran my hands from his cheeks into his hair, stroking his skin, so soft and warm it may as well have been the melting marshmallows from the bonfire. God, I loved touching him. I loved his warm face, his chest, the feel of his t-shirt, which just a few minutes ago I had only been privileged to see, but now was given full reign to caress and play with and hike up to skim the skin of his belly, which was a bit firmer than mine but still soft and bristled with a dusting of hair.

We’d been kissing for a long time now. He’d broadened the radius he was willing to touch to include along the length of my back, although I desperately wanted him to go further. I would have given him full permission. By this point, I was already pushing my freaking groin into his. I mean, how much more did he need?

But then I had a radical thought. What if I just told him? What if I said " _I want you to touch me everywhere,"_ out loud? I weighed the options because I knew that if I did that, it would give him the opportunity to pull out. If I broke the vacuum seal of our mouths, he would get sucked out into space. How much did I really need him to reciprocate? I liked kissing him and I liked having this power. It turned me on a great deal. But if I did break the seal, what would I have to lose? He wouldn’t be able just to pretend this never happened, right?

The combination of the adrenaline, testosterone, and weed in my system meant that if I was ever gonna roll the dice in my life, it was gonna be now.

I kept my eyes closed and pulled away for the briefest moment to huff out, “You can move.”

I hungrily reached back for him, both because I missed him and to prevent him from arguing, but it didn’t work. When he crawled back, I felt a line of saliva spring to my chin. He walked back to his bike, wiping his forehead which was drenched in sweat.

“Let’s go.” He muttered, not looking at me. The animal which had taken me over had retreated into its cage, and although before I was emboldened to place my hands everywhere, now I couldn’t bare to lift my eyes as we gathered our bikes to leave.

Just in time, I remembered to grab Lucas’ bag of goodies, but when I looked up, Jason was already pulling his bike up the incline which lead to the road. I waited a moment until he had left without me before I too headed back to the villa, my stomach lined with lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never used drugs in my life, so I think that's how weed works? I live a very sheltered life, so correct me if I'm wrong, please!
> 
> For those of you who don't know, Spring from Bare is set to Bach's Prelude from Suite No. 1 for "an unaccompanied cello." Scott Miller's analysis of Bare pointed out that this means "Nadia is so alone even her cello is alone." Link for anyone interested in a fascinating analysis of Bare!  
> http://www.newlinetheatre.com/barechapter.html 
> 
> It always intrigued me how Jason could be so closeted and so self-hating and still have begun a relationship with Peter in the first place. At least in my experience, when it comes to these things, it is far easier to do nothing than to do something. This is just one idea of how they could have conquered their demons, if only for a little while.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

The day of the twins’ party, I helped my mother put up string lights in the backyard and arrange flower vases. She asked me to go to the attic and fish out the shiny blue centerpieces she’d found at the neighbor’s yard sale. She had brought them home 10 years ago, an impulse buy, sweetened by the fact that there were five of them, but only now were they ready to make their appearance “just for Nadia”. They were beautiful but superficially bright.

“I don’t know how much of an aquamarine kind of girl Nadia is.” I explained to her as delicately as possible.

My mother sighed dramatically. “She’s so dark all of the time. It must be exhausting. She’ll appreciate the change of scenery, and besides, it’s not only her day. Maybe Jason will like them.”

Mafalda cooked a meal for half the town. Mrs. McConnell helped her with the menial tasks, and Mr. McConnell ran trips into town when Mafalda inevitably realized our pantry wasn’t adequately supplied.

I craved busy work and distraction, so I obeyed my mother quietly. I had slept on the couch the previous night and woken up before everyone else. Then, I made up some excuse about going for an early morning jog, claiming that was why I missed breakfast. It was such an elaborate charade. I seriously wondered whether the embarrassment from lying to my mother about why I wasn’t sweaty was really worse than the shame I would if feel if Jason and I locked eyes, but I chose not to linger on it.

Jason stayed in the room all day. After lunch, which I made it through with my body ever so slightly curved inward, I scurried off to get changed and then offered to help my mother with anything she might need. No task was too small or meaningless. When she, at last, ran out of jobs for me, I helped my father in his study.

The party started off great. My father greeted every guest as they arrived and showed them to their tables. Although the residents of Crema never needed a reason for a party, they liked to be in the know once they arrived, so when they inevitably asked what the occasion was, my father smiled and pointed to Nadia in a black sleeveless dress and sparkly gold eye shadow, saying “Today was the day she came out of the sea foam.”

I told her this at the first available opportunity.

“He said that?” She blushed and looked across the garden. My father waved at her, beaming. “I can’t believe he said that.” She hugged me tight, and I felt her smile against my shoulder. She cleared her throat. “Thank you so much, Peter. I- I have to go thank him.”

She rushed off to find my father. I had stuck by her side during the party in order to translate her introductions and small talk to our Italian guests, but now I was all alone and all the tables were full, my parents nowhere in sight. I stood at the edge of the garden for a while trying to decide which group of semi-drunk Italian housewives would be least likely to interrogate me on my college prospects, but in the end I decided each bet was too risky and that Lucas’ stash I’d stored under the couch was a far more promising investment. I grabbed the plastic baggie from inside the house.

I was sitting on the front stoop starting to roll the joint when I heard two hushed voices coming from the side of the house. I stayed very still until I could make out the speakers, a man and Ivy. I heard lots of shushing and a small sob, the low voice moving in and out of earshot, and then, suddenly, Ivy emerged, jogging back to her bike, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Hey-” I called out to her.

“Not now, Peter!” She yelled back hoarsely. It wasn’t my place, I thought, if she needs me, she’ll come get me. I sat back down and watched her try her best to pedal down the gravel driveway.

Even though I had no confirmation of it, I knew it was him. Nothing else could rouse such a reaction in her at this time and place. Despite trying to avoid him all day, I felt an overwhelming impulse to surprise him. I pictured a spontaneous conversation, as pleasant and brotherly as all our others, pretending what had happened had never happened. As desperate as I was to hold onto yesterday, I knew there was no going back now that he had resolved to erase all evidence of it from our relationship. In taking the initiative, I could at least get him to talk to me again and perhaps get a jump start on a reborn friendship.

I rounded the corner. Jason was sitting on the ground with his back against the siding. “Are you okay?”

He raises his eyebrows at me and huffed. “What did you hear?”

“Oh nothing major.” I said nonchalantly. “Just the basis of what Ivy is gonna call me about tomorrow morning.”

He smiled weakly. “Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think she’s gonna call you this time.”

“Why not?” I sat down a few feet away from him. 

“Because you’re in cahoots with me.”

I freezed. “What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

I didn’t let it on, but I was stunned. Yesterday, his rejection had cut me so deeply that I’d felt all my vigor drain out of me almost instantly, and during the day and half since then, I couldn’t even think of the incident without my stomach seizing up from embarrassment and pain. But now, here we were, discussing my trauma freely and calmly, as though mere minutes ago my wound was not open and oozing, but remarkably, I wasn’t pretending. The idea of it, that stunning moment, while festering in the wilderness of my own mind, had taken on a monstrous shadow, and the more I studied it, the larger and more vicious it appeared. But sitting here with him seemed to dissolve that illusion. He pulled back the curtain on my little puppet show and exposed the memory for what it really was, what it could be, no big deal.

So our old “friendship” hadn’t died. I was thrilled.

A group of kids suddenly ran past us playing tag; one almost crashed into me while rounding the corner. I listened to the sounds of the party. A rowdy conversation, a few childlike screams from the kids, clinking china. I picked up on the rattle of the serving cart which meant that the first course was about to be served.

“Wow. I didn’t hear that at all.” Jason remarked.

“I’ve been here every summer of my life,” I explained. “I know the sounds of the house.”

I asked if he wanted to go back to the party.

“No.” he said flatly.

That was good enough for me.

“Although…” he continued, “do you still have Lucas’ stash?”

I smiled. I thought he’d never ask.

Jason said we shouldn’t do it in front of the kids. He thought they’d rat us out.

“I mean it would also lead them down a _very_ dangerous road.” I replied.

“Yeah, yeah, that too.”

We went upstairs to our room. I looked out the little window overlooking the garden and I asked if he liked the centerpieces like my mom predicted he would.

He took a hit. “Not particularly. But I will in a few minutes.”

“You’re going to like everything in a few minutes.”

He ignored me and took another hit. I sat on his bed next to him.

“You’re gonna finish it too quickly.”

“Don’t worry, there’s enough for you.” He teased the joint close to his lips before dangling it in front of me. I snatched it from him, rolled my eyes obnoxiously, and took a hit. I made an “o” with my lips and blew the smoke in his face. I expected him to slap me or say some snarky comment, building on the banter he had started, but instead his face softened. He hesitated a second then turned away from me.

I dangled my legs over the bed lazily, staring at the smoke rising from the joint. And then, maybe because the drugs were starting to take affect, I violently waked from my meandering dream. It hit me all at once. Where I was, what I was doing, and whom I was with. We were getting high again.

I shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all, wasn’t this always my plan? The baggie was in my lap, Ivy had left, my family was distracted, and a helpful day had gone by during which time our memories could both consolidate and fade. I’d done the calculations in my head and run the simulations, weighed the probabilities and placed my bets. The pieces were in place; all that was left was to replicate the experiment and hope for similar results. I knew that this would happen.

But no, I couldn’t have. He suggested the weed, he brought me inside, he tugged at my arm when I wanted to use the second-floor bathroom, and now it was he who was inching his arm closer to mine. I could feel the heat radiating from it, his delicate forearm, which was paler and softer than the rest of him. Was it me who was now sliding closer, taking advantage of the divot between our bodies to slowly ease our backs together? He who was pushing his back against mine and increasing the pressure like a cartoon thermometer? It was impossible to separate who was doing what and when it started and how long it was going on.

Our hands found each other somehow, aligning our palms for a brief moment. My sneakers pushed hard against the floor, legs bending at an odd angle as I rutted my back against his, joint on the floor, forgotten. My hands broke out from under his palms and sought out his arms stroking them desperately. My shoulders ached from reaching behind me, but I refused to repeat my mistake from before. I blocked out the pain and forced myself to tolerate the strain and preserve the awkward position lest another tender bubble burst. But just as the cramp squeezing my shoulders together became too much to bear, Jason threw his whole body into me and I gathered him in my arms and flung us onto the bed.

It was like no time had passed at all. I sank into the old mattress, and he covered me like a tarp, trapping heat between us until I melted into him. When we kissed, I was suspended above myself like a specter. I might as well have been across the ocean or floating through space, everywhere and nowhere. He joined me on my journey that day. Every spot that he touched was secured and cared for, and he made sure that no inch of me was lonely for long.

He suddenly pulled away. I was yanked from wherever I was and instantly aware of my sweaty body sticking to the comforter. The room was an orange haze and the noise of the party outside had dimmed to a soft timbre.

I panicked. He was a balloon whose string was once again slipping through my fingers. I knew he was going to leave again.

I searched his face but every muscle was relaxed. He touched my cheek.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.” He said simply.

“It’s ok.” I breathed almost immediately. I wasn’t angry at him. I didn't have it in me to be angry with him.

“Are you sure?” Was he trying to change my mind?

I nodded slightly. “I’m just happy right now.”

He smiled. Then his smile got even wider. He hugged me and wrapped a leg around me. I embraced him tighter.

“Hey, guess what?” he whispered.

“What?”

He held the back of my head and stroked my hair with his thumb. “You’re my birthday present.”

I pulled further away than before and giggled. And then I couldn’t stop.

He shushed me, pulling me in again for hug. then kissing me. Once more, I was flung across the ocean to someplace where no one would ever find us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of beauty, was said to have been born out of the sea foam. (We love Sammy Perlman)  
> If any dialogue or plot is unclear, I'd love to know. Feedback is my friend!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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